


Intermission

by AshesToFrost



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Knights of the Eternal Throne, Knights of the Fallen Empire, Other, Prison, References to Depression, i guess, quinn stands for queer undeniably idiotic narcissistic ninny, secret prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesToFrost/pseuds/AshesToFrost
Summary: Six years is a long time to be sad for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Quinn and therefore I love hurting him I guess.

It had only been three months and fifteen days. And seven hours on top of that, give or take. Time enough for an intense frustration to have lodged and taken root.  
“Mal, I-how are you holding up? How goes it?”   
Looking down at himself for a moment, he found the source of worry in the twi’lek woman’s voice. His appearance was rather scruffy - uniform the same that he had worn the day before, hair clearly uncombed. It was probably clear he hadn’t slept a wink.   
“The same. I’ve found nothing.” Disdain was heavy in his tone. “Perhaps in time I would... _consider_ the possibility that she died, except for the-”   
“Except for the lack of any remains” Vette finished. “We’ve danced this jig already. You know I can’t deny that she’s good at surviving incredibly bad odds, but that’s a habit bound to catch up to you eventually.”   
Her words stung, like freezing cold water thrown in his face. Outrage was impossible to mask.   
He hadn’t been the only person to work alongside Miro Vosper and gain some form of attachment beyond the professional relationship, yet it was fast feeling like Malavai was the only one who actually cared about her disappearance.   
The change in Vette’s expression told him that she knew what he was thinking.   
“Hey, I’m sorry. That was harsh-”   
“It has barely been three months and you’re already dancing on her grave.” He snapped, standing taller and doing his best to keep his fury under control. “If you wanted to leave that badly-”   
“I am _not_ -”   
“You were free to go at any point-”   
“That’s not-”   
“She helped your _family_ when there were far more important-”   
“If you would just-”   
“Why are you even still _here_ -”   
“Quinn! Shut up! For two seconds!”   
It was her shrill voice piercing the air that brought his sudden tirade to pause rather than the request alone.   
“I am _not_ ungrateful for what being a part of this crew has done, so don’t you dare imply that I am! I am just as eager as you to be sure that Miro is alright, but unlike you I do have _some_ shred of self-preservation!” Vette had moved closer, jabbing a finger in front of his nose. “Don’t take it out on me just because the others have left!”   
“Except Jaesa”   
“What?” She frowned, incredulous.   
“Jaesa hasn’t left.”   
“Yes-I-I know-” Blinking, she lowered her hand and shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. Or the point. At all”

Malavai sat back down, ignoring anything further she said. If she wasn’t going to be helpful, he could continue working without her assistance. He was used to tuning her out.  
Trawling through documented ships that could have seen or picked her up to contact the owners and enquire for information was easy enough, but incredibly time consuming. He’d had no replies, and nothing in response to the Dark Council for assistance either. Perhaps fair enough in the circumstances of another opponent, yet the former Emperor’s Wrath could have surely been instrumental in taking the Etern-   
His holopad was wrenched from his grip as his attention was so rudely remanded.   
“Listen to me! Everything is a little too chaotic right now. What with two big bad Sith gone one way or another, this other empire attempting to get its foot in the door, and no way of finishing off the Biggest and Baddest one of all, all the other Sith seem to be really trying to get their time in the spotlight and what I am saying is that this really isn’t the best place to be for me.”   
Quinn nodded. “We know this. We’ve taken precautions, Vette, it’s as safe as it’ll ever be”   
“And that’s my point. Actually listen to what I’m saying, Mal, for once. Please. Dromund Kaas isn’t the best place for me right now. In fact, I’d list it as one of the worst places I could be. In the whole galaxy”   
“I don’t quite follow.” It had been an agreement - unspoken, as it is, but still - that in exchange for Vette’s help in the search for Miro, Jaesa and himself would ensure her safety. Why had she changed her mind now?   
“I have to get out of here Mal. And you should come too”   
“What is this? Where is this coming from? Did you just decide this now?”   
She shook her head, and to his surprise, looked truly sorry. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but what if she is just gone? What then?”   
He almost stared her down, but the answer filled him with something akin to shame, and he broke the gaze to look at his hands in silence.   
“You and I both know that she wouldn’t want us to be wasting our lives away if she died.”   
Up until now he’d been able to steer clear of any path that would lead him the conclusion he’d give anything to avoid. Vette was testing that ability.   
“Yet she hasn’t”   
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her press the tips of her fingers together and breathe out.   
“Malavai, I don’t want to...see this be the...end. For you.”   
And there it was.

“There comes a time, Vette, when you mature emotionally enough to find that your priorities have changed considerably. When you reach that moment you will understand exactly why I will not cease searching for my wife” He made sure to emphasise the last word, lest she forget.

“Alright. I’m gonna stop here and just...I tried. I did” Vette clapped her hands together and looked to the ceiling. “But talking to you is like talking to a block of duracrete. So what I’m going to do is I’m going to leave, and wish you luck, okay?”  
“Do whatever you want”   
Vette’s absence hurt more than any of the rest.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not letting you in. Darth Vowran has more to attend to than the likes of you”  
Quinn blinked, horrified. He’d made the request in plenty of time, and Vowran was the last he’d gone to.  
Six months, two days. Still no progress. Bizarrely the none of the Dark Council, nor any of their representatives had at all responded to his enquiries, and this had been his own focus of attention.  
“Surely if I could speak to him for just a moment, it’s about the former Emperor’s Wrath-”  
“We are fully aware of why you’ve come here, sir. There’s nothing I can do”  
He stared back at the woman, who neither looked nor sounded apologetic, and wondered at how it had come to this.  
“Is there nobody I could request for aid?”  
She was looking away already, losing all interest. “Nobody I know of. There are plenty Sith missing; there’s an occupation in case you haven’t noticed.”  
“An occupation that will surely be dealt with swiftly”  
She only gave him a strange look and went back to her work. There wouldn’t be any use in pressing the issue right then and there. This wasn’t his final option by far.  
At least, that’s what he told himself as he walked away, out of the citadel.

The journey back to the apartment became a test of his patience. Every person he saw only served to fuel the flames of fury - finding every mere existence an outrage as he thought-  
Why _her_ , and not _them_ ?  
How is it that these disposable plebs could continue to waste the galaxy’s resources on their own inconsequential beings when _his wife_ who had done more for them all than they’d ever dream of was missing and possibly _dead_ .  
They disgusted him to no end.  
Entering the apartment was always as painful as the first time since Miro had been gone. He’d been there alone before, but this silence felt much louder than the last.  
“Any luck?”  
Jaesa made for difficult company, but in the search she made for a useful companion. Meditations took longer than he would have liked, but at least they were a somewhat solid way of ruling out larger areas. Yet he still found it difficult to look her in the eye when he knew she could see so deeply into his psyche if she simply put her mind to it.  
No doubt she already knew the answer to her question.  
“None.”  
There was no point in trying to hide his disappointment.  
“I’ll assume the same with you”  
“You assume correctly, Quinn”  
The young padawan was sat on the floor in the centre of the suite, back to him, arms rested on her knees.  
“I am trying my hardest. Following traces in the Force isn’t as simple as you’d like it to be.”  
“I remember” Malavai lowered himself into a seat, breathing out. Jaesa’s eyes were closed, yet he could feel her watching him. “Miro...told me once that it’s like trying to follow a voice that you can barely hear”  
“That was her way of describing it, yes. My own connection makes it difficult to know if I am sensing her or simply our bond as a padawan to their master”  
There had been a time, once, that he had felt somewhat inferior to the bond in question. Yet now it was the main reason the search continued.  
“You said you were dreaming of her?”  
“Yes” Wilsaam kept her eyes shut. The blue-grey light from outside thrown across her face made a pleasant effect with the woman’s typically warmer skin tone.  
She never ceased to amaze him in how she remained so at peace considering the circumstances. Malavai was quite open in his own displeasure at the lack of progress, yet Jaesa’s concern, as deep and present as it was, remained hidden away under a determined façade of calm.  
“I should sleep. And so should you”  
He avoided her gaze as she turned to face him, and left the scene.

Sleep avoided him in a similar fashion. Instead of sleep, he would be haunted by memories of the smallest, most meaningless conversations concerning some trivial matter - and all of a sudden be jolted awake by the overwhelming panic of never being given the chance to make up for all that happened, to never enjoy her simple company, and never have another small, meaningless conversation. He would then attempt to calm himself, and rest.  
And so on the cycle continued, until morning.

Jaesa Wilsaam moved on the following day. She’d sat opposite while he attempted to eat a miserable excuse for breakfast.  
“I dreamt of her again.” Her voice had been heavy with sadness. “Alive or not, I know...this isn’t what Miro would want us doing. She told me so”  
Perhaps he’d known for a while that she’d end up leaving him too. Or perhaps he was resigned to continuing on the search alone. Either way, the revelation gave him no shock or dismay.  
Jaesa had moved to gently touch the side of his face in some effort to reach him.  
“Please. I won’t force you to stop, but I am asking you to” Her hand was cold, and her expression full of pity. “Don’t destroy yourself for this”  
There had been no other response. “I have no choice”  
And now he sat completely alone, in an apartment he felt was mocking him.


	3. Chapter 3

Nine months and twenty-eight days. Still nothing. The blockade around Dromund Kaas had made it nigh impossible to continue the search in any significant way. The Empire itself was crumbling so fast, he’d barely noticed it.  
Quinn slept by day and continued on at night, spending as little time in the apartment as he could.   
But today he needed to ensure nobody was around. He had needed to compose a letter - and could not afford any distractions.   
He found himself at a point of no return, an event horizon, where if he resumed the path he was on, there would be no way of undoing the consequences. Of course, the option of calling it off and returning to a life in the Sith Empire was ever-present, but he would preferred to swallow poison than consider giving up.   
He sincerely hoped his letter would reach _somebody_ . He _had_ to try.   
A couple of tense seconds past before he hit send. A little breath escaped him as he did, a cold shiver snaking down his spine. Emotion he had held back with grim determination threatened to push through to the surface. Malavai blinked repeatedly, taking short inhalations, allowing himself a moment of indulgence into the rabbit hole he kept firmly sealed beneath his thoughts. His eyes stung, and he screwed them tightly shut. With every passing day it got harder to continue - this he couldn’t deny.   
Quinn had one last task to complete, and then he would venture into wild space alone.  
  
_To Whom It May Concern Who Is Of Lesser Importance Than Me (In this particular case, Captain Malavai Quinn. No, don’t leave that in.)_ _  
_ _I have been instructed to contact you to ask that you cease in your search for the Sith Miro Vosper, formerly known as the Emperor’s Wrath._ _  
_ _I am aware of your personal investment in Vosper, but would ask that you grieve your loss in a way that does not risk the few remnants left of the Sith Empire falling into complete desolation.  
_ _You have our most sincere condolences,_  
Minister Gelmid Lorman

The letter had baffled Quinn greatly. He knew of Lorman, and that he was currently serving under a Sith Lord named Acina. He also knew Acina had remained staunch in her decision to not retaliate to the Eternal Empire’s occupation.  
If Acina had a quarrel with his own wish to locate his missing wife, she would explain herself in person.  
He gathered his belongings - for he did not plan on returning - and left for the citadel.

Some could say he was ambitious, some could even say he was handsome, but nobody, Quinn thought, could ever say that Minister Lorman was imposing. Though his eyes squinted at him with a piercing intensity, and his expression never faltered from one of utter distaste, somehow the combinations of his mannerisms and his height gave Quinn the impression he was talking to an entitled child.  
“I simply wanted ask why, Minister”   
“Because I ordered it!” Narrowed eyes widened in shock. “Get that into your head!”   
“Minister, if you could understand how beneficial-”   
“Silence! I will not be interrupted!”   
It was slowly becoming clear why the Minister didn’t want Miro to return.   
“I am sure you are loyal to your own wife, but you cannot deny how...chaotic she was.”   
‘Was’ hurt. Like a handful of needles.   
“I’m not sure what you are trying to say, Minister” _Say it. You coward._   
“Even if she were still alive, the Sith Empire’s glory days are _over._ We can only remain a force to be reckoned with if we stop resisting their presence and…”   
The minister trailed off, waiting for Quinn to agree graciously no doubt. Quinn didn’t blink.   
“I am asking nicely, as I have already done, for you to stop this wild bantha chase.”  
Taking a breath, a moment to commit, he clenched his jaw.  
“No”  
Lorman shook his head, feigning disappointment. “Then I am afraid I have no choice. Guards!”   
“Minister!” Quinn stood, quick to attempt to reach for his blaster but found his arm pulled back in a sharp, painful movement, held in an iron-tight grip by one of the heavies in Lorman’s employ.   
“Send this man to Dorumaa”   
“Yes, sir”   
There was barely time to register what was happening before something hard hit the back of his head, and Malavai lost consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours had surely passed when he regained consciousness. Quinn felt incredibly ill as he opened his eyes, and found that his neck was incredibly sore. He was able to make out a few voices in the same room as he was - which happened to be a small grey room, with a few screens that showed various camera feeds. Two guards sat a few feet away, the source of the chatter.   
Sitting up was difficult since his hands were handcuffed behind his back. None of his clothes seemed to be missing, nor any of his belongings as he looked himself over, which was a small relief, since he had no idea where he even was.   
As he slowly tried to stand up, nausea overcame him and he swayed, retching. The guards stopped their conversation to turn and laugh at him, before one of them yelled for a third person. Malavai was helpless to go anywhere and settled for leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath and avoid vomiting.   
“Alright, you’re coming with me”   
Another person had arrived, armed with a vibrosword and a remote for a shock collar. The second item confused him - until he realised exactly why his neck had felt so uncomfortable. There would be no attempt at escaping.   
“Where am I?” He asked, as he stumbled along with them.   
“Imperial Prison. And that’s all you’ll be getting out of me, pal. No more questions.”   
They pushed him into a room with a shower, releasing the lock on his handcuffs.   
__ Prison?  
He looked himself over, the gravity of the situation not quite hitting him, lingering in the background to swamp him later. The guard cleared their voice, motioning toward the shower.   
“Hurry up, we don’t have all day. Strip. Shower”   
They waved the remote, as if they couldn’t drive home the point any further.   
The entire scenario felt far too surreal to be embarrassing. Malavai got to cleaning himself off as ordered and redressed himself in the plain grey clothing he’d been provided with.   
“Put your belongings in the box, please”   
He hesitated a moment, before pocketing a small holo and placing the rest in with his uniform. None of it really mattered too much.   
“All of them”   
Quinn turned back, and saw that the guard had entered the room and was brandishing the collar remote.   
“No. Please. It’s my wife; I can’t forget what she looks like-”  
He was cut off as they activated the shock collar, bringing him to his knees in pain and surprise. Crying out as electricity seared into his skin, he instinctively grasped at the collar to pull it off but only received similar shocks to his hands.   
Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. He remained on his knees for a moment, breathing heavily.   
“In the box”   
In a shaking hand, Malavai pulled out the holostatue and placed it in the plastic box being held out before him. Even as pain faded, as they approached what he assumed to be his cell, the shaking got only worse.   
He was truly imprisoned.  
It was some relief to him that as the revelation took hold the guard had already locked him in. There was no audience to his tears.

Each day found itself the same - if days were passing at all. Malavai remained in his cell, and every few hours or so he would be given food through a small gap in the door. The food mostly consisted of some bland slop and a strangely chewy loaf.  
The lights never went out. They were always bright and cold, glaring down and making sleep almost impossible.  
He spent most of the hours thinking on all his memories of his wife, trying to recall each one with the utmost detail. Whether it be a simple recollection of a moment in the _Aitvas_ , seeing Miro laugh at one of Vette’s jokes, or a private moment between the two of them, like the time they’d spent on Alderaan...all of it mattered equally.  
Nothing frightened him more than the loss of his most important memories.  
  
Then, one day - he was unable to guess when, months, perhaps years into his imprisonment - he was violently shaken awake and taken to a hall of other people he guessed, from their shock collars, who were also prisoners.


	5. Chapter 5

In truth, Malavai had absolutely no idea how much time had passed since his first imprisonment. He hadn’t been able to look in a mirror, so he couldn’t judge it from hair growth, and there was no indication given of whether it was night or day. Time he guessed was hours could have easily been minutes or days instead.  
Now he came face to face with other sentient people for the first time in...however long it had been.   
He found himself stood in a large room, with various tables that were bolted to the floor, and several chairs around each that were also, bolted to the floor. The walls were a light dull grey, showing only slight wear around the metal panels nearer the floor, where it had began to rust.  
The room itself was about half-filled with people of all races sat in various seats wearing the same plain uniform he was in, while in each corner stood a guard, armed with the same vibroknives and shock collar remotes as the first guard he met. It took him a moment, but Quinn eventually went to sit down at an empty table, uncomfortable at the sudden change from being in a solitary routine to surrounded by others.  
There were a few conversations that he could barely make out. The prisoners appeared to be sat in a three different groups; two small groups of about six or seven in the centre of the room, and the rest scattered around the edge, including him. Amongst a group of mainly human, he spotted a chiss, a zabrak, two twi’leks and a zeltron, and a woman with a particularly green shade of olive skin. His presence had gained a few glances, but no reaction of note - until the Chiss, who was sat near the far wall, stood up and came over.   
She sat down at a chair opposite, leaning forward on the table. Messy black hair that came to her shoulders, deep blue skin and subtly glowing red eyes combined with an unusually kind expression made for a strange first impression.   
“So,” she said, in a quiet, curious voice, “what are you in for?”   
Quinn wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Mostly because although he understood Lorman’s motivations behind it, he still couldn’t comprehend that it had happened.   
The Chiss kept talking anyway.   
“We heard there was a new guy, but we weren’t sure.” She paused, then thrust her hand in his direction. “I’m Zela. You can call me...Zela”   
He took her hand, and shook it, considering a response before speaking. The question of what he wanted to be called for the next foreseeable future by people who didn’t know him was an important one.   
“Mal”  
Zela smiled, and sat back in her chair.   
“It’s nice to meet you, Mal. Obviously the circumstances could be better.”   
Malavai nodded, and politely smiled. Speaking to another person was strange - enjoyable, but strange. He still didn’t know how long he’d been in for already, and every time he pushed to try to figure it out he felt a little woozy.   
“Do you know how long I’ve been here for?”   
“No idea, sorry.” Sitting forward to explain, she looked around at the guards. “We don’t often find out the date. Haven’t done in a while now”   
“What is this place?”   
He found it hard to hide the fear from his voice.   
“None of us know for sure. We figure it must be pretty huge, though. The guards are on rotations, switching floors every so often so nobody gets too comfy, but occasionally we’ll get patrols that we’ve never seen before. Nothing gets in or out, either. No spice, no unsanctioned weapons...nothing. The guards are given the same food as us”   
All in an attempt to keep any incentive of attacking the guards away. If truly nothing got in or out, the prison must be one that either has intense security, or is located in some back-end corner of the galaxy that nobody would think to look.   
“What are you here for?” he asked. Zela looked at him, and raised an eyebrow.   
“I believe I asked you that first”   
“Well,” Quinn sighed, unsure how to put it simply, “I refused to stop searching for my wife.”  
“Ah.” Nodding, she pulled a grim expression, then shook her head. “I have no idea how that explains anything”   
Quinn rubbed his eyes. The thought of having to go into all that had transpired made him feel exhausted. “It’s complicated.”   
“Don’t worry,” she said, standing, as their meager excuses for food was brought into the hall. Zela was gesturing to a few others to join them. “We’ve got a while in here”   
  
Although he seldom joined in, conversation was a pleasant addition to his suddenly tiny existence. They’d spent a while discussing one of the guards, a tall human with dull brown hair who apparently they called ‘Ass’, and were now wondering at whether there was anything exciting in their food.   
“If you really concentrate,” mumbled one of them, a dark-skinned human to his right, with a mouthful of bread, “you can almost taste yarum seeds”   
The Zeltron to his left pulled a disgusted face. “Ugh, don’t. I already have enough trouble keeping this down.”   
“Haleez, what’s so disgusting about _yarum seeds_ ”   
Haleez, the zeltron, shook her head and pretended to retch a little. “When they become the main part of your staple diet when you're growing up, the novelty fast wears off.”  
“Why did you live off those?”  
“Family thing. Apparently they make your hair grow thicker”  
Quinn heard a couple of noises of amusement. Haleez’s hair was short and cut very roughly, thin purple wisps that were fuzzy and dry and clearly in poor condition. In fact, unsurprisingly, everyone was in pretty bad shape.  
"More like  _how_ did you live off them. They're _tiny_ _seeds_ "  
"You can buy in bulk. Trust me, I know" Haleez laughed to herself.  
“Mal’s a family man”  
Several of them turned to look at Zela.  
“This is Mal” A blue thumb was waved in his direction. “He's a family man, ain't that right?”  
It took a moment to prepare to speak, but he nodded, assuming Zela meant that he's married.  
“Yes. I have no children but I have a-a wife”  
That seemed to peak interest. Quinn slurped on his slop, unsure of what to say.  
“I'm Morvah” The one who liked yarum seeds raised a hand of acknowledgement.  
“Aido”  
“Leera”  
“Zennor”  
“Mm” Introductions were incredibly awkward when there was nothing that had to follow. He struggled with holding the floor before clearing his throat. “You have my condolences for being in here, then”  
“So, what are you in for, Mal?”   
It was Leera, the green shaded woman, regarding him with a guarded expression.   
“I refused to stop looking for someone. My wife, in fact.”  
“She’s missing?”   
“MIA.” He didn’t want to say any, lest he have to defend his faith in her survival. “I firmly believe she’s still alive.”  
“Must be someone important” Zela wondered aloud.   
_Oh, yes._  
“The Emperor’s Wrath”  
The revelation caused quite a few different reactions among those around him. Both Leera and Zela looked surprised and glanced at one another and Zennor looked momentarily horrified. The other two merely shrugged, exchanging confused expressions.  
“You married the wrath?” Leera looked at him with a mix of disbelief and concern. Malavai almost laughed; he’d known she had a fearsome reputation, but had never properly thought on how exactly Miro was seen by those who didn’t know her personally.  
“I did”  
“Of your own free will and...and all that?” Her concern was almost bordering on sarcastic, but he could see she was being genuine, and only wanted to avoid offense.  
“Yes. I was the one who asked, actually”   
Now there was a memory that would never fail to make him smile. The two of them alone, Miro preparing for one of her greatest battles, and Mal only just out of bed, promising the world to one another.

Zela and Leera had both worked for Imperial Intelligence, Zennor and Aido were hostages, Haleez had been charged with murder and Morvah, it turned out, was a traitor to the Empire, and had been there the longest. They were all being held for one reason or another, under instruction to remain alive for the moment, while they were useful.  
However, Zela had said, that was only preventing outright murder. Wherever they were and whoever was paying them was allowing the staff to experiment on their charges. Quinn deduced that it would be for bettering interrogation techniques.   
Unfortunate for him, but not unheard of.   
It wasn’t as if he wasn’t already in a living hell.


	6. Chapter 6

Time passed. And passed. Malavai soon discovered that the guards changed patrols every so often - seemingly randomly, to deter prisoners from working out the date - and those that were currently keeping their floor in check were known for mostly just watching anything that happened, without intervening. Occasionally they would incite small annoyances, but they would rarely speak, and would always go back to simply...watching.   
Once aware of this fact, he was all  _ too _ aware of it. Their gazes were incredibly unnerving, never seeming to change expression when observing whatever was taking place. Two of them were human, one was a chiss, three were quite large, muscular twi’leks, there was a togruta, and one he recognised with surprise as a trandoshan.   
While everyone had been in the hall together, several of the guards had apparently gone through each cell and ransacked it.   
There wasn’t much in either his or any others that he had glimpsed the inside of - only a mattress, and a couple of basic hygiene facilities. No mirror, no storage, nothing at all. They weren’t provided with access to showers, and when he mentioned this to Zela, she had simply brushed him off.  
Upon seeing his own cell, Quinn tried to hide his frustration. The door was slammed behind him, and he could see that his mattress had been overturned and ripped, the stuffing partially pulled out.  
Although he barely owned anything, the intrusive attempt at perturbing him had succeeded - he half-heartedly turned the mattress back over, and slid down the wall to sit on it, somehow suddenly on the edge of tears.  
This was his existence, until he died.

Clearly he didn’t look well. Leera had taken one look at him once he had sat down at the table and immediately broached the subject of writing to people on the outside.   
“Almost everyone in here does it. We can sneak transmissions out, though it’s far from being an instant form of communication. You should have some contact with the outside world,” she had said, “or you’ll go insane in here”   
It had taken some convincing, but eventually she’d discreetly handed him a small holopad that looked to have been made from the contents of a scrap heap.   
“We do have others, but try not to get caught with it”   
“I’ll certainly try”   
So now he sat in his cell, huddled into a corner. It had taken quite a while to decide who he wanted to attempt to contact, if anyone. Someone who wouldn’t remind him of how many failures he had stacked up behind his name.   
Someone he’d known before.  
One name stood out amongst the rest, and he immediately latched onto the idea. Everyone else would have been too much effort to contact, yet...not  _ him _ , somehow.  
  
_ I know it has been many years, but I have no idea what to do. I find myself in Imperial prison for the foreseeable and unforeseeable future - the whereabouts of which I haven’t the slightest clue - and I have an opportunity to write someone outside this place, and your name was the only one I could think of. _ _   
_ _ In truth, I don’t particularly expect a reply. _ _   
_ _ During my time trapped on Balmorra you were company that I found I came to enjoy. Now I find myself trapped in prison, hoping to find the same comfort in some way. _ _   
_ __ Mal  
  
Perhaps it was too emotionally forward for a letter out of the blue, but Malavai had found himself in a scenario he was coming to think of as being worse than death.   
He sent it into the ether, wishing he’d get some kind of response.


	7. Chapter 7

_ Mal! It’s been way too long. How are you doing? That’s probably a stupid question. _ _   
_ _ Listen, I didn’t expect to hear from you at all, so I’m trying to get my head around seeing that message you sent. _ _   
_ _ That is, after I managed to get it decrypted. Should you be writing anyone in your situation? _ _   
_ _ And since I’m on questions, how did you wind up in prison? You never struck me as the type to break (too many) rules. _ _   
_ _ But seriously, it’s nice to hear from you in all this chaos, but Mal, I don’t know how I can do anything for you. It’s a mess out here - I’m just doing my best to keep people alive and somewhat healthy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re pretty safe in prison. _ _   
_ _ So I guess my final question is what can I do for you? _ _   
_ _   
_ __ (Your pal) Doc Kimble

Malavai didn’t know how long he’d been living in a loop until Zela had handed him a holopad when they had briefly passed one another in the hall. Hearing from someone in the outside world had broken the bubble that had formed around this detached existence. It felt like a breeze had cleared away a heavy fog within him, and a sudden need to break out of this place came over him.  
If he knew any of the layout, it wouldn’t be such an impossible task. Instead, if he were to attempt it, he would have to run and just keep running until he found some way outside.  
If he wasn’t apprehended, that is.  
It was too soon to think about it, but it was definitely something to consider.  
As for the letter, he was still processing being in touch with Kimble again. The familiarity of somebody who knew him was both unnerving and comforting.  
Now he’d memorised it and was sat among the others in the hall again, he’d been considering discussing it, yet he couldn’t quite understand what to say.  
There had also been something else bothering him, but that he’d have to wait to deal with.  
Instead, he’d taken to listening to the others he’d sit with as they took time to share memories of various experiences. The discussions were always cathartic, even if he never joined in.  
But that was about to change, of course.  
Zela had just finished describing a time that she’d taken her wife fishing, when she’d turned to him and asked, yet again.  
“You wanna go down memory lane, Mal?”  
Perhaps the letter had brought forward a need to feel something positive, to re-live times he cherished, or perhaps loneliness had simply begun to wear away, but he nodded, and sat up.  
“I think I do. Although, I’m not sure where I should start”  
“How about the wife?” Leera suggested. “When did you get married?”  
Straight for the pressure points. Unsurprising. This would take some gearing up to.  
He sat forward. “It was two years before I got here. The timing was almost comical, now I think back on it - she was preparing to take down her former master in front of the Dark Council and I was still recovering from an injury. It was wildly impulsive and although I had been considering it for a while I found that once it came to the actual time…”  
In thought, he trailed off. Miro had looked so incredibly fierce and he was still feeling rather delicate that he’d frozen up as he’d been about to ask.  
“I found that I almost didn’t have it in me to ask. Luckily for me, she’d sensed my intentions and asked me herself”  
Touching on the memory brought Malavai a deep-rooted sadness that he’d been keeping locked behind a dam to rival the ones among the gushing rivers of Alderaan. He took a moment to compose himself, and continued.  
“When we both walked into the council it was as a married couple. I don’t think I’ve felt as proud as I did in that moment ever before, or since.”  
Aido Neth - a man from Zakuul - had been smiling to himself wistfully during this, and at the last sentence he laughed, quietly. “Now that’s a way to celebrate.”  
“Yes!” Zela sat up, suddenly enthusiastic. “The Wrath is a Sith. The wedding must have been wild!”  
Malavai paused. “Well...we never actually got round to the ceremonial part, now you mention it. Miro kept trying to find time to arrange it, and as for me, the paperwork was over so quickly I practically forgot there was anything else involved.”  
That made it hurt even more. That they had so much left to do.  
“So in the eyes of her family,” he sighed, suddenly melancholic, “we’re still only betrothed.”  
  
Something had changed in the guards. They were still watching, but they seemed bored. Restless. Waiting, even. Yet it wasn’t until too late did he realise why.  
It happened out of nowhere. One moment they were all sat in the hall, passing time, and the next they were each roughly marched to their cell and thrown inside, barrelled into a small metal box that was almost _too_ small, and subjected to flashing lights so bright he could plainly see the veins in his eyes, and music too loud to allow him to sleep.  
Malavai couldn’t move, and while there was enough air to allow him to breathe, it was restricted enough to make him feel perpetually exhausted. Everything slowly started to ache, then itch, then sting almost unbearably. He tried throwing his weight to tip himself over, but only succeeded in hurting the skin on his cheek and knees.  
The longer he was in there, the more he became convinced he’d dreamt of any existence outside of it. Perhaps this was all there was; hellish state of being with nothing else beyond it.  
  
At some point, he discovered he could slightly bash his head against the top of the box if he moved carefully enough. Maybe if he smacked it into the hard metal side enough he’d do some worthy damage and be free.  
Before he had a chance to possibly find out the side of the box world around him was pulled open and all of a sudden he could see without a constant flashing in his vision. The walls of his cell pulsed around him as he got used to the difference in sight, and came to see a guard in front of him that he did not recognise at all.  
As he was taken to the hall again he almost tripped in agony. His muscles screamed at him for having been stuck in one position for so long, and he was roughly dragged to his feet again into the large room. It took a few minutes just to walk over to the nearest table, but as soon as he sat down he began attempting to massage the pain away.

  
_ Kimble, _ _   
_ _   
_ _ I am gladdened to know that you are alive and somewhat well. I would not consider myself to be doing well, however, given the situation. _ _   
_ _ To answer your question, no, I shouldn’t be writing. But I am, so it hardly matters. _ _   
_ _ I came here because I refused to stop looking for someone important to me.  _ _   
_ _ As for what you can do - I am in a prison where I do not hear anything of the outside, not even the date or time. I don’t know how much time has passed. _ _   
_ _ I suppose all I want is some sort of link with the outside world. Tell me about your life, and I’ll tell you about mine. Consider it an offering of something somewhat constant and consistent amongst the ensuing chaos. _ _   
_ _   
_ __ Mal   



End file.
